


Lessons in Painting and Seduction.

by Rainicornucopia



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Body Paint, Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, Fluff and Smut, Shameless Smut, Writing on the Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 13:06:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3069146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainicornucopia/pseuds/Rainicornucopia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shameless smut in which Solas' painting lesson with Inquisitor Trevelyan turns out to be significantly more 'hands on' than he had first anticipated.</p><p>Also posted to the Dragonage_Kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons in Painting and Seduction.

Had he woke from his long slumber to find himself greeted by a spirit of love, even he would not believe its prophetic whispers.“A fanciful tale” he would call it, a vision of an idyllic tryst borne from the natural and pure intentions of the spirit, nothing more. Save one, he respected those beyond the veil above all others. Yet had the matchmaker spirit he encountered long ago appeared before him to foreshadow this moment, it would have done little to convince him of the actions he would – was, performing.

Solas; Fen'harel; the dread wolf and the nefarious trickster of legend. Here he was, towering above the almost-bare form of a buxom mortal woman - a human woman, no less. Such an image was not wholly inconceivable, at least, not until one placed a soft horsehair paintbrush between his lithe fingers.

The lightest touch of his fingertips upon her décolletage elicited breathy exhalations from the woman beneath him. Coated in the lushest of green pigments, the rounded tip of the brush dipped between the valley of her ample bosom.

“Solas...” the Inquisitor sighed. Inquisitor Trevelyan; a woman of noble birth and respectable stature now lay shamelessly sprawled across fine, embroidered Orlesian silks with the narrow hips of an elven apostate nestled intimately between her shapely thighs.

The Inquisitor was a mage such as he, but a circle mage to whom the entirety of Thedas flocked for spiritual guidance. The heavy burdens of this world rested upon her shoulders and Solas could only imagine what manner of punishment Cassandra would threaten to inflict upon him should she stumble into the Inquisitor's quarters to find the blessed Hero of Andraste indulging in...less than pious activities. The mortal races of Thedas were certainly creative in their craft of colourful expletives and descriptors, but he could not envision any piece of bawdy nor beautiful verse as captivating as the work of art beneath him.

“Yes, ma vhen'an?” he replied with a roll of his clothed hips. He could feel the warm moisture of the Inquisitor's sodden underclothes through the straining fabric of his own coarse breeches. He mustered all of his self-control to retain the cool, collected composure he had painstakingly crafted over the course of the ages.

He swirled the moist paintbrush around the mound of her breast, spiralling the smooth line of emerald across creamy skin and tapering the line to a halt at the puckered surface of a hard nub.

“I-” a whimpered gasp escaped her lips “I believe you are overdressed for the occasion.” Trevelyan reached out with trembling fingers to slip Solas' stitched overcoat from his broad shoulders – remarkably so for an elf, she observed.

The thought alone caused a shiver of anticipation to trickle down her spine, but the firm grasp of his hand around the narrow of her wrist caused her to practically jolt. His dextrous fingers rubbed the sensitive flesh of her pulse point as his other hand entwined in her hair, running over the delicate curve of her rosy cheeks.

“On the contrary da'len...” Solas leaned close enough to feel Trevelyan's warm breath mingling with his own. His whispered words ghosted over her lips and he locked his eyes on her face.

“...I believe I am under-dressed, or was I misinformed? I had thought your people gazed upon magnificent works of art while draped in the most lavish finery.” he unwound his fingers from her wrist, choosing to trace the vines of olive and gold he had painted across the Inquisitor's torso.

“You don't have to flatter me, Solas. Now, as leader of the Inquisition I order you to remove that blasted coat of yours.” if Trevelyan's cheeks were flushed from arousal before, they were now aflame.

“Flattery? No.” He shook his head in denial “Flattery would be to compare you to the crystal towers of Arlathan. I have seen such things only in the Fade, but they were undoubtedly of immeasurable beauty. Few things in this world could hope to match the glory of those twisting spires, but you, da'len, you are one such rarity.”

The sudden crash of her plump lips against his own was all the elf needed to come unravelled. The thread of his resolve finally severed with the gentle nip of her canines at the side of his mouth and the scratch of her blunt fingernails upon his neck.

Trevelyan broke the kiss. “Smooth words to match that smooth head of yours.”

“...Ma serannas, I will take that as a compliment.” Once more he joined their lips.

He caught the faint hint of sweetness on her tongue, which could not hope to match the deliciously high-pitched moans of pleasure which fell from her lips. He presumed the sweet flavour of her mouth to be from the cookies he had witnessed Sera and the Inquisitor sharing on the roof earlier that day before she had sought him out.

The young woman would frequently wander into his quarters without care, only to ignore his presence entirely and focus on the ever-growing mural around her. It was only a matter of time before her interest in the painting developed to the point that she would stand before him, nervously twisting a strand of her hair between her fingers and sputtering something about “Painting lessons”. Polite as always, he had agreed. He had not expected how hands on his teaching methods would be, but upon reflection he should have; from the moment he grasped her hand in the Valley of Sacred Ashes, sexual tension crackled between them like chain lightning on the tips of their fingers.

She grasped at his clothing with urgency, peeling the fabric from his skin with no small amount of haste. In her lustful flurry the iron tankard of murky water perched beside her fell, soiling the exquisite bedding, but she did not bat an eyelid. Trevelyan leaned back on her shoulders, admiring the contours of the bare elven chest before her.

Solas too drank in the sight of her; the vines he had painted roped their way around her neck and down between her heaving chest. The rise and fall of her breasts invited his hands to cup the supple flesh between them, thumbs moving in tandem to brush across perky nipples. She moaned, open-mouthed with head lulled back, and all he could do was breathe deeply. He clasped his eyes shut, a guttural groan rumbling in the depths of his throat – so unlike the melodic lilt his voice usually carried.

He exhaled heavily.

Willing his eyes to open he furrowed his eyebrows at the Inquisitor, who was now staring at him with a look of exaggerated wonder.

“It comes off, I didn't know it came off...”

“Are you...imitating Cole?”

“It was an opportunity I could not afford to miss.”

With upturned lips Solas' nodded. “Ever the opportunist.” he conceded.

Trevelyan opened her mouth but any comment she might have made died on her lips the moment she found her thighs wrenched open and gentle kisses laid upon her warm skin. Solas gave her thigh a tentative nibble and reassured by the subconscious spread of her legs he peppered her flesh with kisses and gentle nips.

His paintbrush had long been discarded, but that did not stop the trickster god from delving his hands into the palette of paint by his side. He smudged his fingers in passionate shades of crimson and hastily smeared obscure geometric patterns along her hips. He dragged uneven lines of paint down the length of her legs, along with the now ruined scrap of paint-stained fabric she had once called her undergarments.

“Solas...don't stop, Solas.” she mewled, forcefully wrapping her supple calves around the elf's shoulders.

He laid a gentle kiss upon her abdomen, just above the heat of her sensitive womanhood. “Rest easy, ma vhen'an.”

Another kiss, closer now. “Be assured that I will have you writhing beneath me before this day's end.” tension lay thick in the air and heat pooled within her folds – be it from her own arousal or Solas' parted lips, she could not say.

“Oh, good, carry on... no, wait, I'd like to know what ma vhen'aaa...oh Maker” The gentle caress of a skilful finger between her glistening folds left her dazed, and the abrupt flick of Solas' warm tongue against her delicate pearl left her grasping for the sheets in lustful ardour.

“Solas. A minor correction, but, proficient as I am in the task I am undertaking, I would draw no such comparison.” He flicked his gaze towards her face, mapping the shade of her flushed, reddened cheeks to memory.

Ever the trickster he engulfed her womanhood in one fell swoop, his silver tongue diving into the depths of her molten core. Desperate feminine fingers curled behind his pointed ears as he supped on her nectar, her moisture slick on his lips.

He had expected his beloved to cry out – and cry out she did. Sweet as any bard song, her pleasurable whimpers served as kindling to the flames of desire within his heart. His veins thrummed with lust as much as it did with raw magical power. Ferociously it scorched a path inside of him, directly to the pulsating length between his limber thighs.

In his distraction he had not expected the sudden shift in gravity. He had not expected to find himself tossed backwards onto the bed, nor for Trevelyan's thighs to be clenched in a vice-like grip about his waist, rubbing red pigment onto his own pallid skin.

“At a loss for words? That's so unlike you.” she teased, tipping his chin to one side and snaking a moist tongue across his pointed ear. Bountiful breasts pushed against his own firm chest and he could not stop his yearning body from trembling.

He felt it, the slight curl of her cupid's bow lips around his ear and he chuckled. “Humorous words from the lips of our inquisitive Inquisitor.” He cupped the small of her back, dragging them down to cradle her plush derrière.

Languidly she brushed her lips over his jaw to lightly peck his mouth. She slipped her tongue over his lips, relishing in the mingled elixir of her own desire and the intoxicating flavour of her elven lover.

“Your inquisitive Inquisitor. A minor correction.” It sprang from her lips before she had even a moment to think about it.

“...”

“Solas!” She yelped as once more she found herself pinned beneath him.

He was on her as a predator would hunt its prey. Lips, teeth and tongues hungrily searched out sensitive patches of skin on her neck. He suckled at her chest and left nary an inch of her precious body unclaimed by his wandering hands.

“You are mine, are you not? Give yourself to me.” He punctuated the order with a harsh suck of her breast, tender from the attention he had lavished upon them but moments earlier.

“Give myself to you? Why, Solas, you should be giving _it_ to me.”

“How many of these euphemisms have you been saving for this special occasion?”

“Ask Varric...or Bull...perhaps Sera, or maybe Blackwall. No, Dorian, definitely Dorian. I'm sure they keep a better record of such things than I.”

The elf sighed, and with a roll of his eyes deftly removed what little clothing remained on his person. It was a desperate bid to silence her and but it be a selfish want, he wished the only name to grace her beautiful lips in that moment to be his own.

“...Maker.”

“Solas.”

“Bog unicorn.”

“Where?”

“Just take me, Solas.”

He did not need to be told twice.

Willingly Trevelyan parted her legs, revealing her blooming flower to his hungry gaze once more. Primal need overtook him, heightening yet dulling his senses all at once. He craved her, her body; her sarcastic tongue; her naïve heart – he would have it all.

He lined his throbbing length up with her lustrous entrance. His nature protested, urged him to tease her, make her beg and force her to play his little games. His body would not listen. He thrust, swiftly sheathing himself inside the heat of her welcoming body.

Instantly she arched her back, her walls constricting around him. The sensation was overwhelming and for a moment, as his head fell into the crook of her neck, he feared his arms would not support his weight.

He tried to drown out the clenching of her searing heat, tried to ignore her wanton cry for “more”. He wanted to calm himself, to make love her thoroughly and slowly but her grinding hips and frustrated groans made restraint impossible.

His slick length slammed into her once more and she found herself slipping her hand into the discarded palette of paint beside her. With a roll of his hips he had her grasping at his back, splaying her fingers across his flesh and leaving mottled prints of gold and crimson along his spine.

“Solas, Solas, more...” she cried. He pushed aside her head with his own and grazing his lips against her ear he called out her name for the first time. Their heavy breathing and desperate cries were drowned out by the debauched echo of skin against skin.

He pawed at her pearl with the smooth pad of his fingers and perspiration pooled on her brow. Trembling legs signalled her undoing; she came undone, sobbing “Solas” into his neck as her body trembled with tremors of indescribable pleasure. The tight grip of her hot, slick walls intensified around him and it was not long before he thrust deeply within her, melding their hips as the stars of the Elvehnan empire burst before his eyes. With an impassioned cry he jerked, spilling his seed deep within her.

In the blissful aftermath of their coupling, the Inquisitor turned her gaze towards her elven lover.

“So...how did this...occur, exactly? It's all a bit fuzzy.”

“As I recall you requested I 'paint you like one of my Orlesian girls' and promptly tossed your shirt across the balcony. It seems you have spent too much time in the company of Sera.”

“Where is it now? My shirt, that is.”

“Despite your poor method of seduction I was far too entranced with the sight before me than to concern myself with such trivial matters, however I do recall a disembodied voice bemoaning the 'ghastly choice of unsavoury fabric'.”

She smiled that charming smile. He would often turn away from it, focus his gaze elsewhere, but now he found his eyes captivated by it. It was she who turned away first.

“Solas, I...”

He reached for her, pulling her distinctly human form to his own elven body. “Ma vhen'an...” he whispered gently onto her damp forehead. He caressed her cheek, absent-mindedly smearing paint across it with the brush of his thumb.

“I care for you, Solas.”

“And I, you.”

“Shall we...shall we make a go of it?”

He chuckled. “Have we not already?” as if sensing her uncertainty he immediately placed a tender kiss upon her lips. “I would like that, ma vhen'an.”

Fen'harel had a higher purpose, a duty to the elvehn people. He would fulfil that duty, but as he gazed down at the human woman cradled in a deep slumber within his embrace, he decided he would allow himself this one indulgence. He picked up his abandoned paintbrush and tentatively marked a wolf over her heart...

…

…

“So does his elfyness have curtains to match the...eyebrows, what would those be anyway? They can't be drapes, yeah? Maybe...nope, nothing.”

“ **Get. Out.** ”


End file.
